"Wasn't that young Sanford?" asked Mrs. Larkin of her husband, as
the two stood at a window of their dwelling one Sunday afternoon,
noticing the passers by. The individual she alluded to was a young
man who had ridden gaily along on a spirited horse.

"He rides past here almost every Sunday afternoon, and often in
company with Harriet Meadows. He is quite a dashing young fellow."

"He is dashing far beyond his ostensible means. I wonder at Millard
for keeping him in his store. I would soon cast adrift any one of my
clerks who kept a fast horse, and sported about with the gay
extravagance that Sanford does. His salary does not, I am sure, meet
half his expenses. I have heard some of my young men speak of his
habits. They say money with him is no consideration. He spends it as
freely as water."

"It is. But Millard is too unsuspicious, and too ignorant of what is
going on out of the narrow business circle. He is like a horse in a
mill. He sees nothing outside of a certain limit. He gets up in the
morning, dresses himself, goes to his store, and then devotes
himself to business until dinner time. Then he goes home and dines.
After this he comes back to his store and stays until night. His
evenings are either spent in reading or dozing at home, or with a
neighbor at checkers. On Sunday morning he goes to church, in the
afternoon he sleeps to kill time, and in the evening retires at
eight, unless a friend steps in, to sleep away the tedious hours. Of
the habits of his clerks, when out of his store, he knows as little
as the man in the moon."

"Me! Oh, it's none of my business. Let Millard look after his own
affairs. I 'm not going to get myself into trouble by meddling with
things that do n't concern me. It is his place to see into the
habits of his clerks. If he neglects to do so, he deserves to be
cheated by them."

"I do n't know. It seems to me that it would be no more than right
to give him a hint, and put him on his guard."

"It would be a good turn, no doubt. But I'm not going to do it. It's
no affair of mine."

"I do n't think he is fit company for Harriet Meadows," said Mrs.
Larkin, after a pause.

"Nor I," returned her husband. "I should be very sorry to see our
Jane riding with him, or indeed, associating with him in any way.
Surely Harriet's father and mother cannot know that their daughter
rides out with him almost every Sunday afternoon."

"Of course not. They are religious people and would think it a sin
for her to do so. I am surprised that Harriet should act in such
direct violation of what she knows to be their real sentiments."

"I think so. If it were my child I would take it as a great favor
indeed."

"Yes, so would I. Suppose, Ellen, you drop a word in Mrs. Meadows'
ear."

"Me!" with a look and tone of surprise. "Oh no, I never interfere in
other people's business. Every one ought to look after his or her
own concerns. I hate your meddlesome folks. I 'll take good care
that my own child do n't form such associations. Let every body else
do the same. The fact is, parents are too careless about where their
children go, and what kind of company they keep."

"That's very true. Still I think no harm could come of your just
giving Mrs. Meadows a hint."

"Well, just as you like," returned Mr. Larkin, indifferently. "Let
every one see that his own stable door is locked before the horse is
stolen."

Mr. Millard, who was in the same line of business with Larkin, was
just the plodding, unobserving, unsuspicious person that the latter
had described him. Sanford was an intelligent clerk and an active
salesman. These were valuable qualities, for which he was
appreciated by his employer. As to what he did or where he went
after business hours, Millard never thought. He, doubtless, on the
supposition of the merchant, went into good company, and acted with
the same prudence that had governed himself under similar
circumstances. But in this he was mistaken. The young man's habits
were bad, and his associates often of a vicious character. Bad
habits and bad associates always involve the spending of money
freely. This consequence naturally occurred in the case of Sanford.
To supply his wants his salary proved insufficient. These wants were
like the horse-leech, and cried continually--" give, give." They
could not be put off. The first recourse was that of borrowing, in
anticipation of his quarterly receipt of salary, after his last
payment was exhausted. It was not long before, under this system,
his entire quarterly receipt had to be paid away to balance his
borrowed money account, thus leaving him nothing to meet his
increasing wants for the next three months. By borrowing again from
some friends immediately, and curtailing his expenses down to the
range of his income, he was able to get along for two or three
quarters. But, of course, he was always behind hand just the amount
of three months' salary. At length, as new wants pressed upon him,
he was tempted to exceed in his borrowed money account the sum
received as his quarterly dues. This made it impossible for him to
pay off, when he received his instalments of salary, the whole
amount of borrowed money, and caused him to cast about for some new
resource. In balancing the cash account one day,--he had charge of
this,--he found that there was an error of one hundred dollars in
favor of cash--that is, there were on hand one hundred dollars more
than was called for by the account. He went over the account again
and again, but could not discover the error. For more than an hour
he examined the various entries and additions, but with no better
success. At last, however, a little to his disappointment, for he
had already began to think of quietly appropriating the surplus, he
found the error to consist in the carriage of tens--four instead of
five having been carried to the third or column of hundreds on one
of the pages of the cash book, thus making the amount called for in
the book one hundred dollars less than the real sum on hand.

For some time after this discovery, Sanford sat at his desk in a
state of abstraction and irresolution. He was vexed that the error
had been found out, for he had already nearly made up his mind to
keep the overplus and say nothing about it. He did not attempt to
change the erroneous figure.--Why should it not remain so?--he at
length asked himself. If it had cost him so much time and labor to
find it out, it was not probable that any one else would detect it.
Indeed, no one but himself and Mr. Millard had any thing to do with
the general cash account of the establishment, and he knew very well
that the latter did not examine it with a very close scrutiny.
Finally, pressing demands for money determined him to put the
surplus into his pocket, at least for the present. He did so, and in
that act let into his mind a flood of evil counsellors, whose
arguments, enforced by his own cupidities, could at any time
afterwards have sufficient control to guide him almost at will. With
this sum of one hundred dollars, he paid off a portion of what he
owed, and retained the rest to meet the demands that would be made
upon him before the arrival of the next quarter day. It was a rule
with Millard to pay off his clerks only in quarterly instalments. No
other payments were allowed them.

It was not long before a deliberate false entry was made, by which
another hundred dollars passed into Sanford's pockets. With this
increase of income came a freer expenditure. Hitherto he had been in
the habit of riding out on Sundays on hired horses; but now he was
inspired with a wish to own a horse himself. A beautiful animal just
at this time came under his eye. It was offered at one hundred and
fifty dollars. The owner, knowing Sanford's fondness for a gay,
fast-going horse, urged him to buy.

The temptation was very strong. He looked at the animal again and
again, rode him out, talked about him, until, finally, the desire to
own him became almost irresistible. He had not twenty dollars,
however, and it would be two months before his salary came due,
which at any rate was all wanted for current expenses. The cash book
was looked at for a week or ten days before he could make up his
mind to pen another false entry. At last, however, he picked up the
courage to do so. The horse was purchased, and for a few days the
thought of possessing so noble an animal was very pleasant.

On the third day after this act of dishonesty, Mr. Millard, who had
been looking over the cash book, discovered the erroneous figures.

"Look here, Sanford," said he, "you have made a mistake here. This
figure should be nine instead of eight, and this five instead of
four."

The young man's heart gave a quick throb, but he controlled himself
by a strong effort.

"Where?" he asked, quickly, coming at once to Mr. Millard, and
looking over the cash-book.

"Yes, that's a fact. I'm glad you have found it out. The cash has
been over about two hundred dollars for several days, and I have
tried in vain to find where the error lay. Strange, after adding up
these columns for some twenty times or more, I should have still
been wrong in these figures. Let me strike a balance for you now, so
that you can count the cash, and see that there is just this amount
over."

This dispelled all suspicions from the mind of Millard, if any had
found a place there.

"No," he replied, "I hav n't time now. I have no doubt of it being
right. Make the corrections required."

Sanford trembled from head to foot the moment his employer left him.
He tried to make the corrections, but his hand shook so that he
could not hold the pen. In a little while he mastered this agitation
so far as to be externally composed. He then changed the erroneous
figures. But this did not make the matter straight. The cash account
now called for two hundred dollars more than the funds on hand would
show. If the money should be counted before he could make other
false entries, he would be discovered and disgraced. And now that
errors had been discovered, it was but natural to suppose that Mr.
Millard would glance less casually at the account than he had been
in the habit of doing. At last, he determined to erase a few pages
back certain figures, and insert others in their places, and carry
down from thence the error by a regular series of erasures and new
entries. This he did so skilfully, that none but the eye of
suspicion could have detected it. It was some weeks before he again
ventured to repeat these acts. When he did so, he permitted the
surplus cash to remain in the drawer for eight or ten days, so that
if a discovery happened to be made, the balance on hand would show
that it was an error. But Mr. Millard thought no more about the
matter, and the dishonest clerk was permitted to prosecute his base
conduct undetected. In this way month after month passed, until the
defalcation rose to over a thousand dollars. Nightly Sanford
attended places of public amusement, usually accompanied by a young
lady, the daughter of some respectable citizen, who knew as little
of the habits and character of the young man as did his employer
himself. Among those with whom he had become intimate was Harriet
Meadows, the daughter of a merchant possessing a high sense of honor
and considerable wealth. Mr. Meadows, so soon as the young man began
to visit at his house, gave him to understand by his manner that he
was not welcome. This was so plainly done that there was no room for
mistake in the matter. Piqued at this, Sanford determined that he
would keep the daughter's company in spite of her crusty old father.
Harriet was gay and thoughtless, and had been flattered by the
attentions of Sanford. She met him a few times after his repulse, at
balls, and hesitated not to dance with him. These meetings afforded
full opportunity for the young man to push himself still farther
into her good opinion, and to prevail upon her at length to meet him
clandestinely, which she frequently did on Sunday afternoons, when,
as has already been seen, she would ride out in his company. This
kind of intimacy soon led to a declaration of love on the part of
Sanford, which was fully responded to by the foolish girl. The
former had much, he thought, to hope for in in a union with Miss
Meadows. Her father was well off, and in a very excellent business.
His fortune would be made if he could rise to the position of his
son-in-law. He did not hope to do this by a fair and open offer for
Harriet's hand. The character of Meadows, which was decided,
precluded all hope of gaining his consent after he had once frowned
upon his approaches. The only road to success was a secret marriage,
and to that he was gradually inclining the mind of the daughter at
the time our story opened.

It is not always that a villain remains such alone. He generally, by
a kind of intuition, perceives who are like him in interiors, and he
associates with these on the principle that birds of a feather flock
together. He was particularly intimate with one of Larkin's clerks,
a young man named Hatfield, who had no higher views of life than
himself, and who was governed by no sounder principles. Hatfield
found it necessary to be more guarded than Sanford, from the fact
that his employer was gifted with much closer observation than was
Millard. He, too, rode a fast trotting horse on Sunday, but he knew
pretty well the round taken by Larkin on that day, and the hours
when he attended church, and was very careful never to meet him. At
some place of public resort, a few miles from the city, he would
join Sanford, and together they would spend the afternoon.

On Jane Larkin, his employer's only daughter, Hatfield had for some
time looked with a favourable eye. But he felt very certain that
neither her father nor mother would favor his addresses.
Occasionally, with her parents' knowledge, he would attend her to
places of public amusement. But both himself and the young lady saw
that even this was not a thing that fully met their approbation.
Hatfield would, on such occasions, ingeniously allude to this fact,
and thus gather from Jane how she regarded their coldness. It was
not agreeable to her, he quickly perceived. This encouraged him to
push matters further.

Soon the two understood each other fully, and soon after the tacit
opposition of the parents to their intimacy was a matter of
conversation between them, whenever they could get an opportunity of
talking together without awakening suspicion.

Harriet Meadows and Jane Larkin were particular friends, and soon
became confidants. They were both quite young, and, we need not say,
weak and thoughtless. Sanford and Hatfield, as the reader has seen,
were also intimate. In a short time after the latter had made up
their minds to secure the hands of these two young ladies, if
possible, there was a mutual confession of the fact. This was
followed by the putting of their heads together for the contrivance
of such plans as would best lead to the effectuation of the end each
had proposed to himself. It is a curious fact, that on the very
Sunday afternoon on which we have seen Mr. and Mrs. Larkin
conversing about the danger and impropriety of Harriet Meadows
keeping company with a man like Sanford, their own daughter was
actually riding out with Hatfield. In this ride they passed the
residence of Mr. Meadows, who, in turn, commented upon the fact with
some severity of censure towards Mr. Larkin and his wife for not
looking more carefully after their only child.

"Me? Oh no!" was the reply. "It is none of my business. I never
meddle with family affairs. It is their duty to look after their
daughter. If they don't, and she rides about with Tom, Dick and
Harry on Sundays, they have no one to blame but themselves for the
consequences."

Thus their responsibility in the affair was dismissed. It was no
business of theirs.

In the mean time the two clerks were laying their plans for carrying
off the young ladies, and marrying them secretly.

"Have you sounded Jane on this subject?" asked Sanford of his friend
one evening, when the matter had come up for serious discussion.

"All right. That point we settled last night. She is ready to go at
any time that Jane is willing to take a similar step. She would
rather not go all alone."

"If she will only second me in urging the absolute necessity of the
thing upon Jane, there can be no doubt of the result. And she will
do that of course."

"Oh yes--all her influence can be calculated upon. But how do you
think Larkin will stand affected after all is over?"

"It's hard to tell. At first he will be as mad as a March hare. But
Jane is his only child, and he loves her too well to cast her off.
All will settle down quietly after a few weeks' ebullition and I
shall be as cosily fixed in the family as I could wish. After that,
my fortune is made. Larkin is worth, to my certain knowledge, fifty
or sixty thousand dollars, every cent of which will in the end come
into my hands. And, besides, Larkin's son-in-law will have to be set
up in business. Give me a fair chance, and I'll turn a bright penny
for myself."

"Low, very low. The old fellow don't pay me half a salary. I'm in
debt three or four hundred dollars, and dunned almost to death
whenever I am in the way of duns. All the people I owe know better
than to send their bills to the store, for if they were to do so,
and by thus exposing me cause me to lose my situation, they are well
aware that they might have to whistle for their money."

"Can't you make a raise some how? We must both have money to carry
out this matter. In the first place, we must go off a hundred or two
miles and spend a week. After we return we may have to board for
weeks at pretty high charges before a reconciliation can be brought
about. During this time you will be out of a situation, for old
Larkin won't take you back into the store until the matter is made
up. You ought at least to have a couple of hundred dollars."

"Bad, very bad. But don't you think you could borrow a couple of
hundred from Larkin, and pay him back after you become his
son-in-law?"

"Borrow from Larkin! Goodness! He'd clear me out in less than no
time, if I were to ask him to loan me even fifty dollars."

"No, but you don't understand me," remarked Sanford after a
thoughtful pause. "Can 't you borrow it without his knowledge, I
mean? No harm meant of course. You intend borrowing his daughter,
you know, for a little while, until he consents to give her to you."

Hatfield looked into the face of his tempter with a bewildered air
for some moments. He did not yet fully comprehend his drift.

"How am I to borrow without his knowing it? Figure me that out if
you please," he said.

"Ah! so far so good. You keep the cash. Very well. Now is n't it
within the bounds of possibility for you to possess yourself of a
couple of hundred dollars in such a way that the deficit need not
appear? If you can, it will be the easiest thing in the world, after
you come back, and get the handling of a little more money in your
right than has heretofore been the case, to return the little loan."

"But suppose it possible for me thus to get possession of two
hundred dollars, and suppose I do not get back safely after our
adventure, and do not have the handling of more money in my own
right--what then?"

"You'll only be supporting his daughter out of his own money--that
is all."

"You are dull. Change a figure in footing up your cash book, so that
it will balance, notwithstanding a deficit of two hundred dollars.
After you come back, this can be set right again. No one will think
of adding up the back columns to see if there is any fraud."

"After Sanford ceased speaking, his friend cast his eyes to the
floor, and reflected for some time. There was in his mind a powerful
struggle between right and wrong. When the plan was first presented,
he felt an inward shrinking from it. It involved an act of fraud,
that, if found out, would blast his character. But the longer he
reflected, and the more fully he looked in the face of the fact that
without money he could not proceed to the consummation of his
wishes, the more favorable the plan seemed.

"But," he said, lifting his eyes and drawing a long breath, "if it
should be found out?"

"True--there is something there to hope for. Well, I will think of
it. I must have two hundred dollars from some source."

And he did think of it to evil purpose. He found no very great
difficulty in getting Jane to consent to run away with him,
especially as her particular friend, Harriet Meadows, was to
accompany her on a like mad-cap expedition with Sanford.

Nothing occurred to prevent the acts proposed. By false entries,
Hatfield was enabled to abstract two hundred dollars in a way that
promised a perfect concealment of the fraud, although in doing it he
felt much reluctance and many compunctions of conscience.

About ten days after the conversation between the young men, just
given, Jane Larkin obtained her mother's consent to spend a few days
with a cousin who resided some miles from the city on a road along
which one of the omnibus lines passed. Harriet Meadows did not use
this precaution to elude suspicion. She left her father's house at
the time agreed upon, and joined young Sanford at an appointed
place, where a carriage was waiting, into which Hatfield and Jane
had already entered. The two couples then proceeded to the house of
an alderman, who united them in marriage bonds. From thence they
drove to a railroad depot, took passage for a neighboring city, and
were soon gliding away, a suspicion unawakened in the minds of the
young ladies' friends.

The absence of Harriet on the night following alarmed the fears and
awakened the suspicions of her father and mother. Early on the next
day, Mr. Meadows learned that his daughter had been seen entering
the----cars in company with young Sanford. Calling upon Millard, he
ascertained that Sanford had not been to the store on the previous
day, and was still absent. To merge suspicion and doubt into
certainty, the alderman who had married the couples was met
accidentally. He testified to the fact of his having united them.
Sick at heart, Mr. Meadows returned home to communicate the sad
intelligence to the mother of Harriet. When he again went out, he
was met by the startling rumor that a defalcation had been
discovered on the part of young Sanford to a large amount. Hurrying
to the store of Mr. Millard, he was shocked to find that the rumor
was but, alas! too true. Already false entries in the cash book had
been discovered to the amount of at least five thousand dollars. An
officer, he also learned, had been despatched to----, for the
purpose of arresting the dishonest clerk and bringing him back to
justice.

"Quite an affair this," remarked Larkin to an acquaintance whom he
met some time during the day, in a half-serious, half-indifferent
tone.

"About Meadows' daughter and Sanford? Yes, and rather a melancholy
affair. The worst part of it is, that the foolish young man has been
embezzling the money of his employer."

"Yes, that is very bad. But Millard might have known that Sanford
could not dash about and spend money as he did upon his salary
alone."

"I do n't suppose he knew any thing about his habits. He is an
unsuspicious man, and keeps himself quietly at home when not in his
store."

"Well, I did then. I saw exactly how he was going on, and could have
told him; but it wasn't any of my business."

"I do n't care so much for Millard or his clerk as I do for the
foolish girl and her parents. Her happiness is gone and theirs with
it."

"Ah, yes--that is the worst part. But they might have known that
something of the kind would take place. They were together a good
deal, and were frequently to be seen riding out on Sunday
afternoons."

"I do n't suppose it was. Still they should have looked more
carefully after their child. I knew it and could have told them how
things were going--but it was n't any of my business. I always keep
myself clear from these matters."

"Mr. Larkin," he said, "I have just heard that your daughter and
Hatfield, your clerk, were married at the same time that Sanford
was, and went off with that young man and his bride. Alderman----,
it is said, united them."

Larkin turned instantly pale. Hatfield had been away since the
morning of the day before, and his daughter was not at home, having
asked the privilege of going to see a cousin who resided a few miles
from the city. A call upon Alderman----confirmed the afflicting
intelligence. The father returned home to communicate the news to
his wife, on whom it fell with such a shock that she became quite
ill.

"He might have known that something of this kind would have
happened," remarked the person who had communicated the
intelligence, as soon as Larkin had left. "No man who does n't wish
his daughters to marry his clerks, ought to let them go to balls and
concerts together, and ride out when they please on Sunday
afternoons."

"Perhaps not. I could have given him a hint on the subject, if I had
chosen--but it was none of my business."

On the next day all the parties came home--Sanford compulsorily, in
the hands of an officer; Hatfield voluntarily, and in terrible
alarm. The two brides were of course included. Sanford soon after
left the city, and has not since been heard of. His crime was
"breach of trust!" As for Hatfield, he was received on the principle
that, in such matters, the least said the soonest mended. In the
course of a few months he was able to restore the two hundred
dollars he had abstracted. After this was done he felt easier in
mind. He did not, however, make the foolish creature he had married
happy. Externally, or to the world, they seem united, but internally
they are not conjoined. Too plainly is this apparent to the father
and mother, who have many a heart-ache for their dearly loved child.